


Help, I'm alive

by airsalonpasandpettysquabbles



Series: "Tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day..." [2]
Category: Lord of the Flies - William Golding
Genre: Angst, Coping, Reflection, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 12:32:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19107160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airsalonpasandpettysquabbles/pseuds/airsalonpasandpettysquabbles
Summary: Jack's life post the island.





	Help, I'm alive

Jack was sure that he would never grow out of his hatred for pigs. Or fire. Or conch shells, while he was at it.

The first few months back home were the most torturous. Everyone seemed to walk on shells around him. His parents didn't talk about the island when he was around, but he had caught them whispering on more than one occasion. Sometimes he caught snippets of their conversations, something about therapy here, and school there, and even the occasional "What the hell happened on that island?"

They would never know. They _couldn't_. They weren't closed off from the rest of society for a long period of time. From civilization. They hadn't seen what his hands had done. What he had said. 

Each time it rained he could envisage the forked lightning and the repurcussion of sound that followed it. A wet mop of hair sat atop of his head and a sharp spear garnished his already guilty, filthy hand. His adrenaline already spiked on a high to abolish the source of terror of every boy's nightmares. He barely remembered the silhouette of the beast tumbling down the hill, and before he knew it, it was there. 

Its words were muffled by their chant, but didn't stop them from spearing it uncontrollably. That should have been their first clue; animals don't speak. But they were truly savages. _He_ was a savage, his painted cheeks only adding to the truth of the statement. It was only the next morning, when the high came crashing down, that his actions hit him;

They had murdered Simon. They had slaughtered him in pure insanity and hysteria. And under his lead as well.

So no, his parents didn't know what happened and couldn't truly understand unless they were there. Unless they experienced it as well. 

Adjusting to his old life, his new life now as well, was hard. He was more fragile now, flinching at mundane things. He also refused to go to beaches, to eat much meat, or to sing for that matter. He detested anyt insects that buzzed, jittered, or wailed. The flies plagued his mind, lapsing around the skull of the pig's head that adorned the stick like a crown.

His mother tried putting him through a 'help group'. It made him realize that he was severely broken. He didn't know if he could or would ever heal. Fragments of him were still back on the island, in his actions and decisions. With Simon. With Piggy. With foolish ideas and childish pride. Others were with Ralph. All in all, it wasn't hard to completely and utterly despise one's self.

Once he took up the task of school, it brought a sense of normalcy back in his life, one he didn't think he could ever regain. As the years passed, he found himself, albeit slowly, letting go.

He knew his hands were still drenched in blood, but something told him there was a river up ahead. He could almost see the veil of ripples. It was near.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a reference to the Metric's 'Help, I'm alive'. It's a powerful song that I thought went well with the context of this fic.


End file.
